despite having the center staff, which alone is the weakest part. But without it, there would be no trident.”
Ellanos’s hair and eyes are filled in with the blackest ink. His skin is red and his jewels are etched in gold. At his feet is a giant octopus, one tentacle wrapped around Ellanos’s ankle.
“Is that thing still alive?”
“Yes. It lives in the king’s private chambers in the Glass Castle.”
I point at Ellanos. It’s like looking at the Greek exhibit at the Met with all the broken vases and plates. “Doesn’t he look like Adaro to you guys?”
“That’s because Adaro’s family are direct descendants,” Kurt says. “As you are of this king, Trianos, who wielded the forked tip of the trident.”
Trianos looks much like my grandfather. The big white mane of hair. I wonder if it was ever another color. The skin is like gold. His eyes are carefully inked in a deep violet. He stands firmly on the back of a turtle. The turtle isn’t one of the cute slow things at the aquarium. This turtle’s shell has hard ridges. There’s anger in its eyes, power in its limbs. I like this turtle.
There’s another paper that’s so thin and black that it breaks apart at the edges where I pull it. “I think someone tried to burn this one.”
This one shows the trident put back together. I trace the outline of the familiar shape of the quartz scepter. There’s text all over it, but it’s in a different language.
“I’m not familiar with these symbols. It shows the way the three are meant to be one. The three-pronged tip and the quartz fit in either end of the staff, which is a catalyst for the two.”
“How did one oracle decide there shouldn’t be three kings anymore? I thought they just see stuff.” I know quite well they do more than see. The memory of the nautilus maid makes me shiver.
“There is no mention of how that decision came to pass. There is only a mention that it happened.”
I tug on my chin, surprised at the fresh stubble. “Remind me to thank Greg for giving us an old piece of paper with hieroglyphics. Gwen?”
She’s surprised when I say her name, like snapping out of a trance. “By the seas, I don’t know where to begin. I believe—” Her eyes flick to Kurt as she hesitates. “I believe this is the language of the oracles.”
“They get their own language?”
“It’s not their language,” Gwen says smirking. “It’s the language of the gods. Their purpose is to translate it. Send some poor soul to war and another to murder his children. That’s why humans have always sought them.”
“I wonder if my mom would know. Greg did teach her once. Maybe he knew she’d look at it.” The kitchen clock marks just past five. My dad would usually be home by now, and my mom would be yelling at me for tracking sand all over the rugs after finishing my lifeguard shift.
“Good,” Gwen says. “Why don’t you summon her?”
“You don’t summon your parents.”
“When you’re king, you can,” Kurt says, pointing at the drawing of Kleos grasping the quartz scepter. If he could wield it as one piece, then maybe so can I.
“Why does your face look like that?” Gwen says.
“Ah,” Kurt says smartly. “I believe Tristan is thinking.”
I pull the quartz scepter from the leather harness. The gold is cold. Orange sunset light fills the crystal and kaleidoscopes against the kitchen walls. “Let’s see what I can learn from King Kleos.”
Are you sure this is a good idea?” Gwen asks, lounging on a rickety old chair.
From the rooftop of my building, you can see for miles. Behind us there’s Brooklyn—brownstones and the handball court, Carvel ice cream, and even the church by Layla’s house. Before us are the Wonder Wheel and the beach and farther out the horizon where my grandfather is waiting for me to show up with this thing that I’m holding. The quartz scepter.
“This may be the best idea he’s had since I met him,” Kurt says.
The dusty gold is cool in my hands. I’m holding it over my head like a sword, the pointy quartz part up in the air.
“Trust me.” And even if they don’t trust me, I’m sure they’re not going anywhere. “I need to learn to use it.”
“It says here that Kleos was the light that shook the earth.” Kurt reads off some crap about channeling some powers within. The strength of blah, blah, blah self.